


Nevermind the end

by ACactusNamedOliver



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Cancer, Canon-Typical Violence, Family, Focuses mostly on Rick Carl and Michonne, Friendship, Gen, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Mild Language, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sick Rick Grimes, no ships, possible major character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-04 08:37:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16343501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ACactusNamedOliver/pseuds/ACactusNamedOliver
Summary: After the attack on the prison, Rick just feels fortunate that his son is still with him and that Michonne had managed to find them amidst all of the chaos. Together, they make their way to Terminus, hoping to find a safe haven in which to rebuild what they'd lost. During their journey, however, Rick starts to grow ill — and it only continues to get worse.





	1. Beginning Again

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting on my computer for a while, and I've been debating whether or not to post it. I've never written for the Walking Dead fandom before. I also haven't watched the older seasons in a while, so I'm sorry if some of the timeline is off or details get mixed up. I'm mostly just going with whatever fits my story anyway.

It’d happened at the worst possible moment.

Rick had just strangled a man in the bathroom and somehow, miraculously, managed to escape the house unnoticed. He was running on pure luck (and maybe a hell of a lot of adrenaline), and he definitely didn’t want to hang around to see how long that held out. With a stolen Uzi gripped tightly in his hands, Rick caught up with Carl and Michonne outside and wasted no time in signaling for them to start running. Thankfully, they followed his lead quietly and without question.

They’d only made it a few blocks down that road when it happened — a sharp, unbearable pain shot through Rick’s legs, causing him to stumble. He just barely managed to choke back a scream, willing himself to keep running despite the agony. However, his efforts proved futile when his world began to blur and spin. At first, he thought it was just the adrenaline wearing off, but when his vision began darkening around the edges and the ground began tilting underneath his feet, he instantly knew what was about to happen.

Unable to slow his descent, Rick hit the pavement — hard.

 

xxxx

“…can’t stay here…too dangerous…need to keep moving…”

“…needs rest…can’t go anywhere in this condition…wait ‘til morning…”

The voices sounded garbled and distant, to the point that Rick couldn’t quite place who they even belonged to. Something told him that the voices were familiar — that he knew exactly who they belonged to — but, for whatever reason, that information just wouldn’t click into place. Instead, Rick continued to struggle against the heavy cloak of darkness, eventually losing the battle completely as he was pulled back down into blissful unconsciousness.

Sometime later (which could’ve been minutes or hours for all he knew), Rick found himself waking again, this time slightly more coherent than before. For several seconds, he just lay there and blinked up at the dark ceiling, his brain taking longer than he was comfortable with to catch up with his situation. He was in pain, that much he was aware of — dull aches and twinges dominated nearly his entire body, accompanied by a deep-settling fatigue that seemed to go straight to his very bones.

He felt completely worn down.

Slowly, memories started returning to him — the fight with the Governor, fleeing the prison, holing up in the abandoned house, strangling that man in the bathroom, escaping with Michonne and Carl, and then passing out and waking up in this place. It was a lot for his slow, hazy brain to take in all at once, which left him unable to process most of it. In fact, just trying seemed to make him slightly queasy.

Stomach clenching, Rick barely rolled over in time to vomit over the side of the sofa. Due to the empty state of his stomach, there wasn’t much to bring up except a pitiful amount of bile and mucus, which burned at his throat and left an acidic taste in his mouth. Wiping his lips clean, Rick idly tried to think back to the last time he’d eaten anything — he figured it must’ve been around two, maybe three days.

Rick settled back onto the sofa and took a look around. From what he could tell, he was in the living room of another house. He had no idea what time it was, but it was clearly quite late. The room was dark and quiet, with just enough light to allow him to make out the silhouettes of Carl and Michonne nearby, both of whom appeared to be fast asleep — Carl was curled up on a love-seat and Michonne was sprawled across an armchair. Rick breathed a quiet sigh of relief. His boy was safe. They both were.

It was with that peace of mind that Rick allowed himself to drift back to sleep.

xxxx

“Dad, wake up.”

The soft voice was accompanied by a gentle shake, and Rick blinked his eyes open. The sight that greeted him was Carl’s face hovering above him.

“You’re up early…” Rick commented groggily, his voice sounding hoarse and tired even to his own ears.

Carl frowned slightly. “It’s past noon, dad. You slept all day.”

Now it was Rick’s turn to frown. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in that late (not counting the entire day he’d spent unconscious, of course). Normally, he was the last to sleep and the first to rise, a habit he’d quickly formed in order to look out for his people. The fact that he’d overslept  _this_  much was…bizarre to say the least.

Slowly, Rick sat up and swung his legs over the side of the sofa. It didn’t escape his notice how stiff and sore his limbs were. He chalked it off to aging, being in his 40s now and all, combined with the numerous injuries he’d sustained after being pulverized by the Governor. He knew it would be a few more days before he was back to being one-hundred percent.

“Glad to see you’re up. How’re you feeling?”

Rick glanced in the direction Michonne’s voice had come from, finally taking notice that she was in the room too. She was watching Rick and Carl from her spot by the doorway, and even though she was smiling softly, undertones of concern could still be detected in her expression. It suddenly occurred to Rick that he’d probably scared the shit out of the two of them by passing out the way he had.

“I’m alright,” he answered lightly.

Michonne gave him a look. “You passed out, Rick,” she said bluntly. “When you just fell to the ground like that, I seriously thought you’d been shot. Scared the hell out of me. Carl too. Not to mention you were unconscious for nearly an entire day… _again_.”

“I know that,” Rick said calmly and placatingly. “We’re all bruised, tired and hungry. One of us was bound to pass out at some point and I’d just happened to be the lucky first. It’s nothing to be concerned about.”

It was a lame excuse, he knew that, but the last thing he wanted was for this to become a ‘thing’ and for them to waste time worrying about it. It’d happened, and now he just wanted to move on. Thankfully, Michonne seemed to pick up on this train of thought, because she sighed and relaxed her stance.

“Here.” She pulled something out of her pack and tossed it to Rick. “Eat.”

Rick caught the object and saw that it was a granola bar. Surprisingly, he found himself lacking any interest in it whatsoever. By all means, he  _should’ve_  been ravenous, but the mere thought of eating had his stomach rolling again. He tried to pass it off to Carl instead, but the boy rejected the offer.

“I already had one,” he said with a shake of his head. “Same with Michonne. You need to eat too, dad.”

With a quiet sigh, Rick just tore the package open and forced himself to finish the granola bar in two bites. Due to his extremely dry throat, the food went down rather roughly and resulted in a harsh bout of coughing. Within seconds, Michonne was at his side with a bottle of water.

Rick grabbed it from her and gulped down several mouthfuls in quick succession, not stopping until the bottle was empty. This apparently wasn’t the smartest of ideas, as his stomach started to cramp up painfully. He had to swallow down the urge to vomit, feeling the water and granola already trying to make its way back up his esophagus.  

“Everything alright?” Michonne asked, placing a hand on his back.

Rick closed his eyes, waiting a few moments for the nausea to pass. “Yeah, just drank too fast. I’m fine.”

Michonne regarded him skeptically. “If you say so."

“How are we doing on supplies?” Rick asked hoarsely, trying to change the subject.

“We’re dangerously low on everything,” Michonne admitted dejectedly. “Ammo especially.”

Resting his forehead in his hand, Rick just nodded again. He’d already expected as much, but he’d still been hopeful for a bit of good news. “We’re going to need to find some soon if we want any chance of defending ourselves, especially with that group around. They aren't the friendly type.”

“I think they moved on,” Carl commented. "Or, we at least got far enough away that they haven't come down this way yet. It's been quiet.”

Rick’s head snapped to Carl. “You didn't go outside, did you?” he asked sharply, falling into instant dad-mode.

At that, Carl and Michonne shared a look. That alone was all Rick really needed to have his answer, but he still waited for someone to fess up.

“Just once…” Carl slowly admitted. “Just to see if there was anything in the neighboring houses. We didn’t go far and we really needed supplies!”

“We didn’t run into a single walker or human,” Michonne added in, as if thinking that would help Rick feel any better.

It didn’t.

Instead, Rick rounded on her. “Do you know how careless that was? How  _dangerous_?” he shot at her angrily. “What if you’d been seen by that group? They would’ve killed you both!”

Michonne stood her ground, not one to be cowed by anyone. “You really think I would’ve allowed it if I hadn’t ensured the area was safe first?” she retorted, keeping her tone level. “We searched only two houses and I kept an eye on him the entire time.  _Nothing_ happened.”

“Plus, we found more food, dad, see?” Carl hurriedly added, dropping a bag of supplies at Rick’s feet. “This’ll get us through another day or two, hopefully.”

Still irked but feeling his energy draining fast, Rick resignedly dragged the bag over to him and gave a quick look through the contents. There were a couple more granola bars, four small boxes of raisins, two bottles of Gatorade, six bottles of water, a can of pea soup, a can of low-fat refried beans and a miraculously unopened jar of peanut butter. It was extremely optimistic of Carl to think that this would last them a couple more days, even considering what they already had. As it was, they’d already gone two days without eating properly — raisins and a few measly granola bars weren’t going to get them very far.

As usual, Rick’s mind felt weighed down by the immense stress of trying to keep his family fed and protected. No ammo, no food, no safe shelter — they were as good as dead if he didn’t fix all three of those problems  _really_  soon.

“You did good, this’ll definitely help,” Rick praised Carl nonetheless, seeing no reason to impart all of those worries onto his son as well. “Now go and get everything packed up, alright? We need to leave this area before we lose anymore daylight.”

Much to his surprise, Carl heeded his orders without backtalk or complaint. His son simply got right up and started shoving supplies into their packs as quickly as possible. Michonne, one the other hand, came over to Rick and knelt down in front of him.

“How are you doing?”

"I think that's the third time you've asked that question by now,” Rick said, unable to keep the exasperation out of his voice.

“And I’ll stop asking once you give me a real answer,” Michonne replied pointedly. “So, be honest: how are you doing?”

Rick knew a losing battle when he saw one, so he resignedly said, “All thing’s considered, could be worse.” And he wasn’t being entirely dishonest, either. By all rights, he should probably be  _dead_  right now — the fact that he was alive and moving around was a god-damned miracle. “Leg and ribs are slowly but surely healing and everything else is mostly just bruising and scrapes. Give it a few days and I’ll be back up to speed.”

Michonne seemed skeptical of his assessment — as if she could sense whenever he wasn’t telling the  _whole_  truth — but Rick also knew that she trusted his judgement on most things, so she didn't press the issue.

“Need me to look at anything before we head out?” she offered instead. “Bandages changed, wounds cleaned, anything like that?”

Rick shook his head. “No, that isn’t necessary,” he said. “Everything’s fine.”

As if to emphasize his point, Rick pushed himself up and onto his feet (while also trying to ignore the way every muscle in his body screamed in protest at the movement). It occurred to him that he probably should’ve taken things slower, as an intense light-headedness overtook him instantly and turned world upside down for one sickening moment. If it hadn’t been for Michonne grabbing his arm to steady him, Rick was sure he would’ve become acquainted with the ground for the second time in twenty-four hours.

“Whoa, easy, Rick,” she said concernedly. “Are you good?”

By now, Carl had stopped what he was doing to look over at them curiously.

“Yeah," Rick panted slightly, straightening his posture. “Just stood up too fast.”

“We can stay another night—”

“No,” Rick cut Michonne off firmly. “We need to keep moving.”

“I'm not sure if that—”

“Michonne, listen to my dad,” Carl interjected suddenly. “He knows what he’s doing, okay? Just trust him.”

Rick looked at Carl, feeling warmed by the steadfast support from his son. Only a couple of days ago, Carl had been fighting him at every turn, filled to the brim with bitterness and resentment towards his father. It’d been hard on Rick, to feel a huge rift forming between them — Carl was the last thing he had in this world, and he wasn’t ready to let him go yet (didn’t think he ever would be). But after a quiet moment of just talking things out, a lot of the tension simply…melted away. Carl’s faith in his father seemed renewed and for that, Rick was grateful.

“Well?” Carl continued, tossing Michonne’s pack to her, his lips quirking playfully. “We gonna get going or what?”

Michonne deftly caught the bag, but glanced over to Rick in question. Rick’s response was just to nod.

“You heard the man.”

Rick took his own pack as Carl handed it to him and in return gave the boy’s bony shoulder a squeeze, relaying trust, comfort and affection all in that one gesture. What happened next was something truly amazing  — Carl looked up at him and  _smiled_. Genuine and heartfelt. Rick hadn’t been on the receiving end of one of those in what felt like a very long time, and he couldn’t recall anything more special, more beautiful. It was exactly what he'd needed in that moment.

“You guys ready?” Michonne asked, one hand poised over the door knob, the other drawing her sword.

Now Rick was smiling. “Ready as we’ll ever be.”

With that, Michonne threw open the door and the three of them walked out into the world — together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely sure how I want this to go, so just be prepared for possible major character death. All tags are tentative and definitely subject to change. Will add more as the story progresses.


	2. Fatigue

“Do you remember what cheeseburgers taste like?”

“Believe it or not, I never ate them very often — but I certainly wouldn’t say no to one right now.”

“What! How could you not like cheeseburgers? That’s crazy!”

Michonne just laughed at Carl’s dramatic outburst. “I was more into health foods — you know, organic fruit and vegetables, quinoa, kale, hemp milk, stuff like that.”

“Eugh, I can’t believe you ate like that by _choice_ ,” Carl sounded both astonished and offended. “Tell me you at least liked pizza?”

“Is that even a question? Who _doesn’t_ like pizza?”

“I bet you probably ruined it by putting kale on top of it or something,” Carl said, accusatory. 

Michonne snorted in amusement. “Even I wouldn’t go that far,” she assured. “In fact, my favorite toppings were pepperoni with extra cheese — can’t go wrong with the classics."

“Okay…that’s not too bad,” Carl said in approval and then, after a moment, continued with, “What was your absolute favorite meal…you know, before?”

There was a brief pause in which Michonne seemed to consider the question. “That’s a tough one…I guess it would be homemade omelets, stuffed with onions, cheese and mushrooms. Made with real eggs, though, not that powdered crap,” she said. “Oh, and fried okra. Would kill for some fried okra right now.”

At that, Carl made a gagging sound. “Fried _okra_? Blegh! That sounds even worse than that kinawa or whatever it was you said.”

“It’s _quinoa_ and don’t knock it ‘til you try it, you little punk!” Michonne retorted in mock-offense.

“Just saying, you have terrible taste in food!” Carl teased. “Except for pizza — at least you’re normal there.”

“‘Normal’?” Rick joined the conversation at that point, eyebrows raising as he glanced over his shoulder at the pair.  “I think someone’s forgotten that he used to put M&Ms and sour gummy worms on his pizza.”

“Okay, now _that’s_ nasty,” Michonne snickered.

“Hey, I was like five, okay?” Carl said defensively. “Besides, that’s still gotta be better than _kale_.”

“For your information, kale is a superfood and—"

“Don’t start that up again,” Rick interrupted exasperatedly. “No one wants a lecture about kale, and besides I don’t think I can handle any more talk of food — I’m trying to _distract_ myself from the fact that we haven’t eaten in two days.”

Carl and Michonne both had the decency to look sheepish (but only slightly so).

“Sorry, dad,” Carl said with a small smile. “But you have to admit: a cheeseburger does sound really good right now.”

Rick’s stomach responded by giving a rather aggressive growl. Truth be told, _anything_ sounded good. It’d been a few days since they’d started their journey to Terminus and they were down to their last cans of food. Scavenging buildings had been pointless (and often too dangerous to even attempt), which meant their only remaining source of food was hunting small animals.

He didn’t know if it was the starvation, a bout of depression, or maybe a combination of both those things, but Rick was finding each day increasingly more difficult to get through. He was sleeping more than ever, yet often waking up feeling like he hadn’t sleep at all. Not only that, but he was constantly being plagued by crippling dizziness and nausea. They should’ve been nearly to Terminus by now, but instead they were stopping several times a day just so Rick could rest. It was becoming extremely frustrating and aggravating, to say the least.

As if on cue, a wave of dizziness decided to hit in that exact moment, causing Rick’s vision to suddenly swim and darken around the edges. He managed to stumble to a nearby tree, where he leaned on it for support and attempted to breathe through the dizzy spell, unable to stop the groans of discomfort that slipped out on the exhales.

“Dad?”

Carl appeared beside him, his voice filled with concern and maybe a hint of panic. Rick opened his eyes and looked at his son, wishing there was something he could do to assuage his worries. Instead, all he could offer was a weak smile — which probably came off more like a grimace than anything.

“I’m alright, son,” he croaked, the sound of his voice contradicting his words. “Just need a minute.”

“It’s happening again, isn’t it?” Carl asked, mouth set into a frown.

Rick just nodded, head dropping against the tree. Another wave of dizziness hit him _hard_ , nearly knocking him right onto his ass. Fortunately, a strong pair of hands grabbed him right then and kept him steady.

“We’ll make camp here,” Michonne said, carefully leading Rick to sit down. “It’s almost dark anyway.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Carl demanded, sounding stressed out. “He’s been like this for days!”

“Carl,” Michonne said in a firm voice. “Go start a fire, and be sure to keep it low. Stay within eyesight, you hear?”

“But—”

“Do it. Now,” Michonne ordered, pulling a bottle of water out. “I’ll take care of your dad.”

Carl hesitated, obviously torn between listening to Michonne and staying with his dad. He seemed to decide on the former, because he eventually walked off to gather a few branches for a fire. In the meantime, Michonne uncapped the water and pressed it to Rick’s mouth.

“Here, drink this.”

Rick parted his lips, allowing the cool water to trickle down his parched throat. He drank as much as he could physically tolerate before pushing the bottle away. Tiredly, he allowed his head to fall back against the trunk of the tree.

“We don’t need to stay here,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I’m fine to keep going.”

“The hell you are,” Michonne scoffed in disbelief. “You can barely stand.”

“Nonsense…” Rick argued feebly. “I’m fit as a fiddle.”

Michonne rolled her eyes and brought the water back up to Rick’s mouth so he could take another drink. When most of it just ended up dribbling down his chin, it took Rick a moment to realize it was because his jaw was trembling — as was the rest of his body.

“Are you cold?” Michonne asked, appearing to take notice of this too.

Rick nodded, teeth chattering lightly.

Looking at the other two, he realized he was the only one, though — neither Michonne nor Carl seemed the least bit cold. Even though it was currently the middle of winter, the temperatures had been pleasantly mild (even downright warm some days), making only a light jacket necessary most of the time. This meant that Rick going from fine to freezing in ten seconds flat was definitely an odd occurrence. Michonne apparently thought the same thing, because she reached over to press her hand to Rick’s forehead.

“I think you’re running a fever,” she observed, and then her eyes widened in slight panic. “Were you—?”

“No,” Rick promptly cut her off, already knowing the conclusion she’d come to. “If I had been, I’d tell you. I wouldn’t endanger you and Carl like that.”

Slowly, Michonne nodded and relaxed — a testament to the sheer amount of trust she had in Rick. “Must be the flu, then,” she said. “Explains why you haven’t been feeling so great the past few days. We don’t have any fever reducers so we’re just going to have to wait it out, unfortunately.”

Rick just listened to her talk, not finding the energy to reply to anything she was saying. While he didn’t feel particularly awful, he definitely felt a bit off — like all he wanted to do was lie down and sleep for ten hours.

“What’s going on?” Carl’s voice joined the conversation. Rick turned in time to see his son drop a bundle of sticks onto the ground. “What are we waiting out?”

“Your father has a fever,” Michonne supplied, uncapping the bottle of water again. “I think it’s fairly minor, so it should hopefully pass on its own soon.”

Gently, she cradled the back of Rick’s head with one hand and brought the bottle to his lips with the other, trying to encourage him to take another drink. Rick, however, just shook his head in adamant refusal.

“You should save that,” he said. “We don’t have much left and we might need it later.”

“Rick, now’s not the time to be worrying about that,” Michonne said a bit impatiently. “It’s important that you drink a lot of fluids, otherwise it’ll just take longer for you to get better.”

Despite Michonne’s sound logic, Rick still wasn’t convinced. What if Carl ended up needing it later? They still had several days on the road, _at least,_ and they were down to their last couple of bottles. Rick couldn’t stand the thought of his son going thirsty because of him.

Michonne, on the other hand, clearly didn’t give a rat’s ass about any of Rick’s worries — she just kept pressing the bottle to his lips until he had no choice but to give in. Obediently, Rick swallowed down a couple of mouthfuls, wary of how much he was consuming and wanting to limit it as much as possible. When Michonne was satisfied that he'd had enough, she set the bottle to the side. 

“So, is it the flu or something?” Carl asked as he hovered next them anxiously.

“From the looks of it, I’d say so,” Michonne said and then turned her gaze up to Carl. “How’s that fire coming, by the way?”

“I’m getting to it,” Carl grumbled and turned back to his pile of sticks.

“Good,” Michonne said. “Once you’re done with that, I’ll cook up that squirrel we caught earlier.”

While Carl started on building the fire, Michonne went about trying to get Rick out of his jacket — a task he didn’t make easy. As soon as Michonne reached for the zipper, Rick jerked away from her.

“What’re you doing?” he demanded warily. “I’m _cold_.”

“You just _feel_ like you’re cold, Rick,” Michonne tried to explain patiently. “In reality, you’re burning up. You need to try to stay cool and wearing that jacket is only going to raise your temperature.”

It took a little more coaxing, but eventually (and with great reluctance) Rick allowed the jacket to be taken from him. He wrapped his arms around himself and huddled up against the tree, body wracking with violent shivers and teeth clacking so loudly he feared that it might attract the attention of nearby walkers.

For a while, Rick just watched Carl and Michonne from his spot, fatigue settling over him like a brick. He struggled to stay awake but he must’ve dozed off at some point because the next thing he realized, he’d been shifted so he was now lying down, his jacket balled up under his head like some sort of makeshift pillow. He could hear Michonne’s and Carl’s hushed voices talking close by, but he was too tired to listen in on what they were actually saying.

He slipped in and out of consciousness several more times throughout the night, only vaguely aware of when Michonne lifted his head and attempted to coax him into drinking more water. It’d been pretty unsuccessful, considering he’d just mumbled something incoherent to her before falling right back to sleep.

When Rick woke again sometime later, it was due to an acute awareness that he was _too hot_. He instantly noticed that his entire body was covered in sweat — his shirt was soaked through, practically plastered to his torso, and his skin felt wet and slippery to the touch. Sitting up, he struggled out of his shirt and tried not to cringe at the disgusting sensation of it peeling from his body. Once it was off, though, the cool night air provided him with a little bit of relief.

Wide awake now, Rick glanced around the campsite and immediately located Carl fast asleep next to the now extinguished fire. Michonne, on the other hand, was sitting up and keeping watch, katana at the ready like always.

“Michonne,” he called hoarsely, throat feeling like sandpaper.

The woman turned at the sound of his voice. “Rick?” she whispered back. “Are you alright?”

“I’m burning up now,” he said quietly, wiping away some sweat from his forehead.

At that, Michonne got up and walked over to him, pressing her hand to his forehead. “You’re still very warm to the touch,” she said, speaking more to herself than to him.

Sitting down next to him, she took out the water again, this time trickling some down the nape of Rick’s neck. The sensation was extremely unpleasant against Rick’s burning skin, causing him to hiss in discomfort and flinch away.

“Shhh, shhh — I know that probably doesn’t feel very good,” Michonne soothed apologetically. “But I promise it’ll help you feel better.”

“You really need to stop wasting water,” Rick muttered.

“This isn’t a waste,” Michonne stated softly. “We need you healthy.”

Too tired to argue, Rick just sat still and allowed her to dribble more water down his shoulders and back. Even though the contrast of the tepid water against his overly hot skin was almost painful, he grudgingly had to admit that she was right — he was already starting to feel a little bit better.

“I think you’re finally cooling down,” Michonne observed a little while later, feeling at Rick’s forehead and cheeks again. “Hopefully you’ll be fit enough to travel in the morning.”

“Figures I would get sick of all things,” Rick commented bitterly. “I’m supposed to be watching out for you two, leading you and Carl to safety — but instead we’re being slowed down by a measly case of the flu. I swear, it’s like God is fucking with us or something, striking us down at every turn.”

“Hey…don’t talk like that,” Michonne chided him, gently grabbing his scruffy chin so he’d look at her. “Just because you’re our leader doesn’t you’re infallible — you’re bound to get sick from time to time. Just like the rest of us. These things _happen_.”

Rick scoffed lightly. “That doesn’t mean it isn’t frustrating as hell.”

“Just focus on getting better, alright?” Michonne said, brushing a few sweaty curls from Rick’s forehead. “We’ll figure out the rest after.”

‘ _After_ ’. Rick wondered if such a thing was even in the cards for them anymore.

Despite Michonne’s best attempts to reassure him, Rick found himself crippled under the weight of self-doubt and worry. Their current situation was dire and they both knew it. They were out of food, down to their last rounds of ammo, and Terminus was still a several days walk away. Combined with Rick being sick — therefore making him more of a liability than an asset — their situation was quickly deteriorating from ‘bad’ to ‘utterly fucked’.

Rick wanted to keep up a positive and strong front for Carl’s sake, but deep down he couldn’t hide from the fact that he was terrified.


	3. Constellations

“I wonder what that star is called?”

Rick looked up in the direction Carl was pointing. “That big one right there? I believe that's the dog star, Sirius.”

“Why’s it called the dog star?” Carl asked curiously

“Well, do you see how you can connect it with the nearby stars to make the shape of a dog?” Rick said, using his finger to draw an invisible line in the sky. “Together they make up the constellation Canis Major.”

Carl tilted his head and squinted. “I don’t see any — oh wait, there it is!” he exclaimed. “Wow, that’s actually really cool!”

“So, your old man is ‘cool’ now, huh?” Rick chuckled, ruffling his son’s head fondly.

“I said _it_ was cool, not _you_ ,” Carl snorted, fixing his hat after Rick had knocked it askew. “Can you show me any other constellations?”

There was an almost childlike curiosity to Carl’s question, and it brought a nostalgic ache to Rick’s chest. It made him think back to a time when Carl used look to him for all of the answers — back when Rick had been the father who knew everything and who could do anything. For a moment (however fleeting), Rick got to feel like that again — got to see his son as his wide-eyed little boy, and not the hardened man he’d grown to be. It was a moment he wouldn't trade for anything.

“Well, let’s see…I know that one, the one that’s kind of shaped like a W? That’s Cassiopeia,” Rick said, pointing the constellation out. “And that one over there is the Little Dipper. You can see the North Star at the tip of its handle.”

“I already knew that one at least,” Carl said somewhat proudly. “Where’d you learn all this stuff anyway, dad?”

“I’m curious about that as well,” Michonne agreed, walking a few steps behind Rick and Carl. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for an astronomy nut, Rick.”

Rick shook his head. “It's just basic stuff I remember from an astronomy course I took in community college,” he clarified. “Back before I joined the academy.”

“Huh…” Michonne hummed thoughtfully, smiling. “I always wondered about the kind of things you did back before…you know…all of _this_. The kind of life you led.”

“That stuff isn’t important anymore,” Rick said in disregard. “Most of it has no place in this new world, and it's best forgotten.”

Even as the words left his mouth, Rick knew he was only lying to himself. He was constantly haunted by memories of his old life every single day, replaying in his head like a damn movie that just wouldn’t end. Sometimes, it was just simple things — like going to church every Sunday (despite never really wanting to), or having barbecues with friends and family while enjoying the warm summer evenings, or reading a good book when he had the free time. The kind of mundane things that used to make up everyday life, but seemed more fairy-tale than real nowadays.

Most of the time, though, he found himself reminiscing on the long conversations with Shane while they ate lunch in the patrol car; or the nights spent lying in bed next to Lori, the flowery scent of her shampoo easing him off to sleep; or the afternoons sitting at the kitchen table with Carl, working on homework together while his son told him about his day at school.

 _Those_ memories were the most precious to Rick. At the time, they'd seemed so small and insignificant, but now they meant everything to him — even if they were part of a life that no longer existed and belonged to a person he could never be again. He held onto them because at least in his memories, safely tucked away, his family lived on — where Shane was still his best friend, Lori was still his loving wife, and Carl was still a happy, unburdened child.

He wouldn’t let those versions them fade away. He _couldn’t_.

“Dad!” Carl’s urgent whisper yanked Rick back to the present. “Walkers!”

Rick heard them before he saw them; the low, rattling growls infiltrating the silent night as a group of five shambled out of the woods. Upon hearing the distinct sound of Michonne unsheathing her sword, Rick did the same with his knife.

“Just hang back, Carl,” Rick said lowly, holding out a hand to stop his son. “We’ll handle this.”

Carl looked at him like he was insane. “You can’t be serious, dad! I can help!”

“I said _no_ ,” Rick snapped, shutting down any further arguments. “You’ll do as I say, understood?”

Carl lips pressed together in a thin line, his expression one of seething anger. Rick didn’t care, though. It wouldn’t require all three of them to take down such a small group of walkers. Carl getting involved would just be an unnecessary risk.

“Maybe you should hang back too, Rick,” Michonne said, eyeing him uncertainly. “You’re not looking too well and I can handle five.”

“I’m fine,” Rick said brusquely, disregarding concern. “Let’s just do this.”

Together, they carefully approached the walkers, Michonne heading straight for the three on the right while Rick went for the remaining two on the left. Within seconds, there was the sound of heads thudding to the ground as Michonne decapitated one after the other in rapid succession. Meanwhile, Rick raised his knife and forcefully plunged it into the softened skull of his own walker, the bone cracking and flesh squelching when he yanked it back out. As he kicked the corpse away from him, Rick stumbled slightly, suddenly dizzy and disoriented.

“Dad! Watch out!”

Rick barely had time to react before the remaining walker lunged at him, sending them both tumbling to the ground. The walker landed heavily on top of him, its decaying mouth snapping wildly in an attempt to get at his flesh.

“Rick!”

Time slowed down and, for a brief moment, Rick actually feared this would be his end — his arms were trembling weakly as he strained to keep the walker at bay, its mouth getting closer and closer to his throat. In the next second, though, it suddenly fell lifelessly atop him.

“Dad! Are you alright?”

Rick took in a shuddering breath when the weight of the walker was rolled off of him. Carl came into view and the boy began searching him frantically for any sign of a bite, obviously fearing the worst.

“Carl — Carl, stop! I’m fine!” Rick croaked out, his heart still thundering in his chest. “I wasn’t bit.”

Carl released a breath, looking every bit as shaken up as Rick felt. “God damn it, dad,” he said, holding a hand out to Rick. “Scared the shit out of me when I saw that walker lunge at you. You should’ve just let me help like I’d wanted to!”

“Language, Carl,” Rick reprimanded halfheartedly, taking the offered hand so he could be pulled to his feet.

“What happened, Rick?” Michonne appeared beside him, a deep frown set on her face.

“I don’t know,” Rick replied, bending over to pick up his knife. “One second I was fine, the next I could barely see straight I got so dizzy.”

“You need to take it easy until you’re fully recovered,” Michonne said, sheathing her sword. “In the meantime, it would be best for you to leave the walkers to me and Carl.”

 “You're kidding, right?” Rick arched a brow at her. "Do you seriously think I'd allow that?"

“Not asking permission, Rick,” Michonne told him. “I’m _saying_ that’s how it’s going to be.”

“Michonne’s right,” Carl readily agreed. “You need to focus on getting better, dad.”

It wasn’t unusual for Carl and Michonne to join forces against him like this, which meant Rick knew this was most likely a losing battle. That still didn’t stop him from trying, though, pinning them with a hard stare that expressed how ‘not okay’ with this idea he was.

"Dad," Carl glared at him. "You know we're right — in your current state, you'd only be in the way."

Carl's words stung more than Rick would ever like to admit. He was Carl's father, which meant he was supposed to be protecting _him_ — not the other way around. Yet, he still recognized the truth in Carl's words. He hadn't even been able to take down one walker, and that made him a liability.

“Alright..." Rick reluctantly acquiesced. "I'll leave it to you two for now."

Michonne's expression relaxed. "Thank you."

“You got your mamma's stubbornness, you know that?" Rick said to Carl. "Her glare too.”

There was a snort from Michonne. “Gonna have to disagree there, Rick,” she said. “Those are traits he definitely got from you.”

“She’s right about that,” Carl affirmed, eyes dancing with amusement. “Mom was never half as stubborn as you are.”

“That’s because _you_ didn't experience her stubbornness or her glare near as much as I did,” Rick argued. “Also, why are you always siding with Michonne? I’m your dad. You should be on my side, not hers.”

“I’m a teenager now,” Carl responded with a shrug, as if that explained everything. “I’m supposed to go against my dad all the time.”

“He’s got a point,” Michonne chuckled. “Those _are_ the rules of being a teenager.”

“Not out here, they aren’t,” Rick disagreed sternly. “New world, new rules, which means teenagers have to listen to their parents — otherwise they end up getting killed.”

“I could say the same thing about parents listening to their kids,” Carl retorted pointedly. “Considering _you’re_ the one who almost got killed by not listening to _me_ back there.”

“Maybe so,” Rick said. “That still doesn’t change the fact that I’m your father and what I say goes — and right now, I say to get your butt moving. Go on, we still need to find a place to camp for the night.”

"Alright, alright," Carl grumbled, retrieving his knife out of the walker's skull. 

They walked a bit farther until they found a small clearing that seemed relatively safe. They decided against building a fire, considering they didn’t have any food to cook and it wasn’t that cold anyway. Michonne volunteered to take the first watch, leaving Carl and Rick to find the softest bit of dirt to bed down on for the night. Within minutes, they were both passed out from sheer exhaustion.

Only an hour or so after falling asleep, Rick found himself waking with a gasp. At first, he thought it'd been nightmares (the usual culprit) to wake him, but then he became aware of the _pain_. It shot through his legs like white-hot fire, forcing him to grit his teeth in order to keep from crying out. For several agonizing minutes, the only thing he could do was lie there and wait it out. Eventually, the pain subsided into manageable throb.

Gingerly, Rick sat up, and the first thing he did was check to make sure Carl was still beside him. Even though the chances of anything happening while Michonne was on watch were slim, the father in him constantly worried. To his relief, Carl was perfectly fine and still fast asleep.

The next thing Rick took notice of was how much he was sweating again. In fact, he’d perspired so much in his sleep that the dirt beneath him had become completely damp. Grabbing a water bottle out of his bag, Rick took several big swallows and used the rest to wash the sweat off his face. He felt so sticky and disgusting that he wanted nothing more than to be able to shower. 

Just as Rick was about to lie back down, he paused upon noticing movement in his peripherals. He sprang to his feet, hand going directly for his knife. However, he relaxed upon seeing that it was only Michonne.

“You startled me,” he said, moving to sit back down.

“Sorry, I just saw that you were up,” Michonne whispered, sitting next to him. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Nah,” Rick said, absently rubbing at his legs, which were still aching. “Guess that means I’m keeping you company.”

“Your legs bothering you?” Michonne asked, observing his actions.

“I’ve been getting these pains in them lately,” Rick said. “Figure it must be due to old age or something.”

“Old age?” Michonne repeated incredulously. “Rick, you’re forty, not eighty.”

“Forty must be the new eighty, then,” Rick chuckled, rubbing at his graying beard. “Been so dog-tired lately that I can barely get myself going most days.”

“Well, look at the life we live,” Michonne said reasonably. “Nearly dying has become an everyday thing for us. I think it’s completely fair to feel worn out like you do.”

“It’s more than just feeling worn out, though,” Rick shook his head. “I feel _weak._ I couldn’t even fight off a single walker today.”

“You keep forgetting that you’re still _sick_ ,” Michonne said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “What happened today could’ve happened to anyone in your state. That doesn’t make you weak.”

Rick just nodded, not really in the mood to have this conversation.

“Why don’t you get some sleep?” he told her instead. “I’m not tired, I’ll keep watch.”

“I think I’d rather stay up with you a while,” Michonne declined despite how tired she looked.

“Are you sure?” Rick asked. “Gonna be another long day of walking tomorrow, you know? Might be a good idea to rest up.”

“I know…” Michonne trailed off. “It's just...I don't feel like dreaming tonight, you know?"

That was something Rick could certainly relate to. Dreaming usually meant nightmares, and sometimes it was just easier to avoid them by not sleeping altogether. With nothing else to say, they just sat there in comfortable silence, keeping each other company through the night while watching over Carl together. It wasn't until a good hour later that Michonne broke the silence with a question.

"Rick?"

"Hm?"

There was a pause before Michonne continued, "Tell me more about the stars?"

She looked at him then and, even through the darkness, Rick thought he could see her eyes shining with the reflection of the universe. Just like Carl's eyes had done earlier. Just like Lori's used to do, so long ago. Just like Judith's would've some day, had Rick been given the chance to tell her all about the stars too.

Rick’s heart ached at the thought of Judith. At the thought of Lori. When he turned his gaze to the sky, he imagined the two of them up there somewhere among the stars, forming their own little constellation in the heavens where they would be together forever. The thought was oddly comforting to him — because, in that way, Judith and Lori would never truly be gone. They would always be there, looking down on him and Carl.

“Sure,” he smiled softly. “I can do that.”


End file.
